


tomayto, tomahto

by razumihin



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, farmers market shenanigans, me vicariously living through this fic because i miss the farmers market, mentions of ozai's shitty parenting, no tomatoes were hurt in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razumihin/pseuds/razumihin
Summary: Zuko and Sokka at the farmers market. What crimes will they commit.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 428





	tomayto, tomahto

**Author's Note:**

> For Val <33

Zuko likes his boyfriend, maybe even loves him (most definitely loves him but Zuko’s kind of known for his emotional repression so this is most definitely _not_ a road he’s willing to go down on at 7:06 in the morning), but there are some things that not even love can make a man turn a blind eye to.

Yes, Zuko’s addressing the elephant in the room.

Yes, he’s talking about Sokka’s horrible “famous” mac and cheese.

(“Is it famous for being horrible?” Zuko had asked the fourth time Sokka had made the dish for him. The first time Sokka had made it, it had been date night. That had been an entire affair — candles, flowers, and some twinkling piano music because Sokka was a hopeless romantic and Zuko, underneath it all, was also a hopeless romantic. Sokka had declared his mac and cheese to be “restaurant quality, well actually, way fucking better” and Zuko, just a bit blindsided and lovestruck, had completely forgotten that Sokka can’t cook for shit. Zuko had hesitantly eaten it all anyways, the anxiety and fear had bubbled up to his throat and down his gut so much so that he had barely even tasted the concoction. Sokka’s understanding, Sokka’s kind, Sokka’s nothing like his father, but a lingering ghost whispers poison into Zuko’s mind and heart sometimes — and he had feared Sokka’s anger, retribution, and hurt. What if Sokka rescinded some cuddle and kiss rights? Or worse, break up with him over it? Or—?)

Sokka’s famous mac and cheese _really_ should not have the moniker of “mac and cheese” attached to it, and that’s not even Zuko being dramatic (“Rich boy tastebuds can’t handle my mac and cheese huh,” Sokka had said sticking his tongue out when Zuko had finally told him the truth. Zuko had kicked him in reply.). The first strike had been the noodles: Sokka for whatever reason had purposefully ignored the store bought dry noodles that stocked their pantry and had zoomed in on the authentic Italian noodles which Zuko had shelled out for (hey, his father’s money is finally good for something, may it be the pasta equivalent to Frankenstein’s creature). The first time, Zuko had lovingly boiled them to a perfect al dente at his boyfriend’s request — and then Sokka had dumped it in a bowl with a single kraft slice of cheese and some butter, nuked it in the microwave for a few minutes, and then placed cold, shredded ham on top. Zuko was pretty sure the very creation of it was a crime against Italians everywhere.

“It’s earlyyyyyyy,” Sokka mumbles into Zuko’s collarbones, doing his best to burrow his face into Zuko’s chest. Sokka’s arms are a warm, familiar weight around Zuko; nowadays, Zuko doesn’t flinch so much from physical affection anymore, but it doesn’t stop Sokka from softly asking for permission. Calling Sokka a cuddly octopus is a gross understatement and Zuko’s really making up for years of not hitting the daily hug quota, alright?

Unlike Zuko who easily wakes up at the crack of dawn due to years and years of his father’s angry tirades of sleeping past the sunrise as a characteristic of the lazy and undisciplined, Sokka can sleep to the early hours of the afternoon if undisturbed. The chair creaks ominously with their combined weight as Zuko sips on his tea, Sokka nodding off in his lap despite the occasional jab to his side.

“The farmer’s market opens at 7:30,” Zuko says as if that should explain everything.

A slight snore. Zuko pinches Sokka’s cheek (lovingly) and smirks into his cup at Sokka’s indignant yell.

“Is this about the time the mushroom man cheated you from your mushrooms? Are you gonna go start a fight with him again?”

“For the last time, he _did_ cheat us out of mushrooms! But that’s not the point. The point is, we’re out of groceries and I can’t eat your mac and cheese again for dinner. I’ve reached the quota for the month.”

“Congrats on knowing the word ‘quota’,” Sokka says dryly, stealing Zuko’s cup and sipping from it. “What? Do you need a big, strong man to carry your groceries?”

“You’re scrawnier than me—”

The kitchen erupts into a flurry of jabs and laughter — a quaint dream that Zuko never thought he would have.

* * *

The farmer’s market is, unsurprisingly, busy even at the early hour. It’s by no means as big as the fancy one Zuko’s mother took him to as a child, but it is sure a hell of a lot bigger than the one back home for Sokka. The tents are a cheerful swirl of red and white, and the grass is slightly on the edge of too-yellow due to the lack of rain in the last few weeks. The air is already thick with humidity, and the sun’s rays beat down mercilessly, promising a scorching day ahead. Zuko straightens himself up, eyeing the throng of people already congregated. Zuko has a list in his right hand, the paper is decorated with tiny Hello Kittys, courtesy of Sokka of course. Zuko has his route down, he knows exactly which stalls to hit up first, who to talk a little more sweetly, a little less irritable to. There’s also cash stuffed in his pockets so neither he nor Sokka will have unnecessary fees added to their card. On both his shoulders Zuko carries the ugly jean bags (“They’re jags!” Sokka had crowed with delight) that Katara had so kindly made for them after Aang had gone on a spiel about ditching plastic and going zero-waste.

“Oh, that’s the Battle Bitch Face on,” Sokka grins as he lets go of Zuko’s hand and waves his fingers in Zuko’s face. Zuko silently passes him some money. “The crepe stand is calling my name. Strawberry?”

Zuko nods but his attention is already diverted, some lady is already chatting up the guy with the herbs.

Sokka snorts and gives him a wet kiss on one cheek before slapping the other with his palm, snickering when Zuko turns an annoyed glance his way. “Go get em, tiger,” he says, already sauntering away. “Try not to get arrested this time.”

Boyfriend distracted, it’s Go Time. The list crumples in Zuko’s palm and he power walks it to the first stall on his list.

* * *

See, Sokka’s not a morning person, but the farmer’s market gives him an excuse to basically eat dessert and ice cream for breakfast, and who is he to not indulge? That and sometimes the crepe lady will give him an extra crepe when he’s especially charming (the crepe lady adamantly denies this and swears she only hands off another crepe to get the annoying guy _away_ from her stall, he’s scaring away the other customers). He’s halfway through his second blueberry crepe, his other hand sticky from the melting strawberry ice cream that decorates Zuko’s, and he’s aimlessly walking around the area, chatting up with any stall owners he recognizes. Toph Beifong who only sells dirt (who buys dirt in a farmer’s market? How has she not gone out of business?) yells at him enthusiastically in hello as he approaches.

“Christopher,” Sokka nods at her in greeting because he is an adult.

“Snoozles,” She nods back, how _does_ she know? It’s the ninth wonder of the world, the eighth being Sokka’s ass, thank you very much. “Don’t go spouting that willy nilly, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“It’s on your name card.”

“I have a name card?”

Lo and behold, Christopher Beifong is emblazoned on it in neat print.

“Why do I have a name card?” Toph asks as she clips it off her apron, her fingers are smudged with dirt.

“So everyone knows your name?”

“Why do they _need_ to know my name? What are they, cops?”

“Toph—”

God, where did Zuko _go_? The farmer’s market isn’t even that big and--

“Stop HOARDING the _TOMATOES_!”

Oh no. Oh god.

Sokka knows that voice. Sokka knows that voice very well. He cranes his neck, hoping to get a sight of Zuko: nada, zilch.

Zuko’s voice rings through the air, clear as a bell, and furious. “You can’t just take all the good heirloom tomatoes, _what are you doing_? Feeding a small ARMY? It’s not even eight o’clock yet, are the rest of us supposed to go tomatoless??”

“Is that Sparky?” Toph chortles, shoving Sokka out of her stall, but not before stealing the remainder of his crepe. “Better go get your man before he gets you guys banned from the market again.”

“I don’t CARE, no one _needs_ that many tomatoes, and I NEED them because I can’t live _one_ more day with macaroni as my MEAL!!!”

Sokka doesn’t run because he’s a chill guy, okay? But a bitch may power walk.

A woman’s answering screech responds in kind but Sokka tunes that out as he rounds the corner. His relief in finding Zuko and the fact that the tomato stand is still intact instantly evaporates once he realizes that he is looking at the calm before the storm, the stall the focal point of a soon-to-be all-out, old fashioned brawl.

“UNGRATEFUL? I’m UNGRATEFUL? You’re the one who is obviously HEARTLESS—”

The scene: Zuko, one jag filled with leafy produce, a focaccia clutched to his chest, the other filled with assorted vegetables and a few tomatoes, his face is red and he’s gesticulating wildly at the woman in question. The woman in question is, to put it mildly, a Karen, a real “can I speak with the manager?” type of lady. The stall owner looks like he might faint although the kid in the stall over looks enraptured by the turn of events. There’s a small ring of people already gathering around them, drawn like moths to a flame due to the conflict.

To be fair, and Sokka’s not being biased here, but the lady does have a horrific amount of tomatoes. Sokka winces as Zuko points at the bags upon bags upon bags of tomatoes and then at the few in her hands. The woman screams back. Zuko’s face, if possible, turns redder, almost purple. The kid in the next stall whips out his phone, most definitely going Instagram Live on this. Sokka expects Suki to send him a link to the video later with an accompanying text of “does this make Zuko’s top 10 cringe moments?”.

“KICK HER ASS, ZUKO!” Toph screams from Sokka’s elbows and _christ_ , when did she even get here?

Sokka has to stop this. Sokka has to stop this quick before — and oh, and that indeed is a tomato, a very beautiful heirloom tomato, leaving the Karen’s hands and flying through the air and hitting Zuko in the face and—

— _fuck_.

“What happened?” Toph clutches at Sokka’s arms. When Sokka doesn’t answer, she pinches him until he does.

Zuko touches his forehead, eyes wide in shock. “Did you..throw a tomato at me?” He repeats the question dumbly, staring at the tomato juice in his hands. There’s a growing stain on his shirt, small mercies in that Zuko wears black only so it’s not _too_ noticeable.

“You wanted a fucking tomato so badly, you got one,” the Karen hisses back like a viper. The stall owner looks like he wants to die.

“I’m going to _kick_ your teeth out, lady.” Zuko vows.

 _Ohhhhh_ okay, Code Yellow to Code Red because Zuko’s no longer screaming. A screaming Zuko is a Zuko that can be reasoned with. It’s only when his voice drops, low and serious, posture rigid, and shoulders hunched up to his ears defensively, that Zuko’s too far gone. Neither reason nor pleading will appeal to him or even register to him at this point. Out of the corner of Sokka’s eye, he can see two burly men make their way towards the tomato stand, and fuck, they really _are_ gonna be banned from the market again.

Sokka can’t do this, he’s been awake for less than an hour and he still hasn’t hit up the boba stand and at this point it looks like he’s not getting any boba, and Zuko’s going to get himself arrested and that’ll be a damper on date night and later Zuko will be so sad and disappointed in himself for losing control of his temper and —

Sokka walks over and smashes the strawberry crepe in the lady’s face. The stall owner and woman gape at him. Zuko does too.

“Uhhh, bye!” Sokka grabs at Zuko’s hand and pulls him along as he throws cash at the stall owner’s direction. “So very sorry about this, don’t ban us, bye!” They stumble upon the cabbage guy’s stand and he wails as his cabbages fall to the ground.

Toph’s laughter cackles in the background.

Dinner is Sokka’s famous mac and cheese.

**Author's Note:**

> Why didn't they go to the grocery story afterwards? Because they're gay. End of story oiajsdfoasijfa
> 
> Inspired by my friend Val's post about how you need to make sure Zuko just screams random words even in a modern au. That and how funny it would be to see him in the farmer's market.
> 
> "Christopher" Beifong is also based off of Val's post because she mentioned that Toph should be short for Christopher in a modern day au and it's been haunting me for days and will probably haunt me for longer.
> 
> Sokka's famous mac and cheese is supposed to be reminiscent of Mac's famous mac and cheese from iasip aisdjoasodjisa.
> 
> Oh to go to the farmers market again and be gay and hold hands with someone you love..am i right ladies, gents, and thudes??
> 
> Anyways, i'm LIVING for the atla renaissance, hit me up on tumblr I'm @pendraegon


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